France just lost the final cup. I went to a small bar in the Marais and i was surprised to see some fashion preppy boy with skinny jeans and old school vans in the middle of a crowd of cows wearing ridiculous t shirts with the number 10 on their back. Zidane. Zidane is my new hero. I loved the way he kicked the fuck out off this italian player. Gorgeous.
And i have a bruise on my inner left thigh. I don't know how it happened. I mean i have a vague idea but i don't know how exactly it happened. Last night, truskel. I didn't stay that long, though. Just enough time to hear the platicines playing. Oh my. Geez. The end of the world is near.
By the way Mischa was in Paris. Yeah. Mischa. In fucking Paris. I bet she went dancing to the Baron just like last time she went in January. Oh i hate life.
I'm tired and a bit tipsy. Which means i shall go to bed and read instead of writing nonsense on a blog.
I'm craving for chocolate and i don't have any at home. Life is way too hard on me.